The Fabulous Riverboat by Phillip Jose Farmer

They went on by Firebrass’ cage, hoping he would not see them and call to them. But he stood bent over, leaning his head against the bamboo bars. Goring groaned once. They kept on going and soon were around the corner of the building.

Their slow and seemingly drunken wanderings took them near a big building that had been occupied by Fred Rolfe, King John’s supporter on the Council. The number of armed men on guard around it convinced Sam that Hacking was inside it.

It was a one-story house of lodgepole-pine logs and bamboo. Its windows were unblinded, and the light from within showed people inside. Suddenly, Lothar gripped Sam’s arm and said, “There she is! Gwenafra!”

The torch light shone on her long honey-colored hair and very white skin. She was standing by the window and talking to someone. After a minute, she moved away, and the bushy hair and black face of Elwood Hacking moved across the bright square. Sam felt sick. Hacking had taken her for his woman for the night.

Gwenafra had not looked frightened. She had seemed relaxed, but Gwenafra, though volatile and uninhibited most of the time, could be self-restrained when the occasion demanded. He pulled Lothar away.

“There’s nothing we can do now, and you’d be throwing away any chance she might have at all.”

They drifted around for a while, observing the other factories and noting that the bonfires stretched both ways along the walls as far as their eye could detect. In addition to the Soul Citizens, there were the Ulmaks and a number of Orientals. Sam wondered if these could be the Burmese, Thai, and Ceylonese New Stone Age peoples living across The River from Selinujo.

To get out of Parolando, they would have to go over the wall. And they would have to steal several small boats if they were to get down The River to Selinujo. They had no idea about what had happened to Publiujo or Tifonujo, but they suspected that these countries would be next on Hacking’s list. To escape just to the north to Chernsky’s Land was foolish. Iyeyasu would be moving on that as soon as he found out about the invasion here, if he had not already done that.

It was ironic that they would flee to the very country the citizens of which had been forbidden entrance to Parolando.

They decided they would return to the dam now, tell what they had seen and make plans. The best chance to get away would be when it rained.

They rose and started to walk about, skirting the huts which housed the enemy and the captive women.

They had just passed into the shade of a gigantic irontree when Sam felt something tighten around his neck from behind. He tried to yell, to turn around, to struggle, but the big hand squeezed, and he became unconscious.

26

He awoke gasping and coughing, still under the irontree. He started to get up, but a deep voice growled, “None o’ that! Sit still, or I’ll split yer skull with this ax!”

Sam looked around. Lothar, his hands tied behind him and a gag in his mouth, was sitting propped up under a half-grown fir tree sixty feet away. The man who had spoken was a very big man with excessively broad shoulders, a deep chest and brawny arms. He wore a black kilt and black cape, and he held the handle of a medium-sized ax. Sheaths at his belt held a steel tomahawk and a steel knife, and a Mark I pistol was stuck in his belt. He said, “You be Sam Clemens?”

“That’s right,” Sam said, his voice low, also. “What does this mean? Who are you?”

The big man jerked a head full of thick hair at Lothar. “I moved him away so he couldn’t hear what we have to say. A man we both know sent me.”

Sam was silent for a minute and then he said, “The Mysterious Stranger?”

The big man grunted. “Yes. That’s what he said you called him. Stranger’s good enough. I guess you know what it’s all about, so there’s not much use us jawing too long about it. You satisfied that I’ve talked with him?”